Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair. A. E. Housman More Quotes by A. E. Housman More Quotes From A. E. Housman Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free. A. E. Housman rubies heart giving Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck. A. E. Housman towers strength luck I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made. A. E. Housman stranger made world The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn. A. E. Housman break fairy angel And malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man. A. E. Housman drinking food book In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning. A. E. Housman sarcastic air funny The troubles of our proud and angry dust are from eternity, and shall not fail. Bear them we can, and if we can we must. Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale. A. E. Housman dust beer sky And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears. A. E. Housman silence cheer sound Loveliest of trees, the cherry now A. E. Housman lyric-poetry spring love 'Tis spring; come out to ramble A. E. Housman easter spring wind How clear, how lovely bright, How beautiful to sight Those beams of morning play; How heaven laughs out with glee Where, like a bird set free, Up from the eastern sea Soars the delightful day. To-day I shall be strong, No more shall yield to wrong, Shall squander life no more; Days lost, I know not how, I shall retrieve them now; Now I shall keep the vow I never kept before. Ensanguining the skies How heavily it dies Into the west away; Past touch and sight and sound Not further to be found, How hopeless under ground Falls the remorseful day. A. E. Housman strong morning beautiful Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed. A. E. Housman humorous hands world This is for all ill-treated fellows Unborn and unbegot, For them to read when they're in trouble And I am not. A. E. Housman ill humorous trouble They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,The lads that will die in their glory and never be old. A. E. Housman lad glory men They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat; They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up. A. E. Housman meat cooking food Poems very seldom consist of poetry and nothing else; and pleasure can be derived also from their other ingredients. I am convinced that most readers, when they think they are admiring poetry, are deceived by inability to analyse their sensations, and that they are really admiring, not the poetry of the passage before them, but something else in it, which they like better than poetry. A. E. Housman poetry art thinking Look not in my eyes, for fear A. E. Housman mirrors eye love Now, of my threescore years and ten, A. E. Housman wearing-white twenties years I think that to transfuse emotion - not to transmit thought but to set up in the reader's sense a vibration corresponding to what was felt by the writer - is the peculiar function of poetry. A. E. Housman vibrations peculiar thinking Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it. A. E. Housman poetry-is said way
